Ghost Leap
by Tabitha12
Summary: GAMMQuantum Leap Crossover. Captain Gregg and Carolyn Muir are having a few problems. Can Sam Beckett and Albert Calivicci save the Day? Oh Boy!Reformatted to chapters and disclamers added.
1. Default Chapter

_**Title: Ghost Leap **_

_**Author: Mary**_

_**Rating: PG**_

_**Summary : GAMM/Quantum Leap Crossover**_

_**Captain Gregg and Carolyn Muir are having a few problems. Can Sam Beckett and Albert Calivicci save the Day? Oh Boy!**_

**_Disclaimer: The characters from 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir ' belong to 20th Century Fox and David Gerber productions. Sam Beckett, Albert Calavicci and the other Quantum Leap characters belong to Universal Television and Donald Bellisario.__ I accept that. I like to think of them as 'mine,' but I know they aren't – I'm only 'borrowing' them for the purpose of telling this story. No infringement is intended, no profit made, and they will be returned unharmed from whence they came._**

_**"All other characters, plots, storylines and development of GAMM characters belong to the author and may not be used or changed without express written permission.**_

_**No infringement is suggested or intended by the mention of any song titles, movie titles, musical groups, brand names, or real-life actors' names or public figures in this story, and my thanks to the lyrical talents of Charlap and Leigh for "I Won't Grow Up."**_

_**I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to Kathy for being my editor on this project. For letting me bounce ideas off her ten times a day, for not getting impatient with me, and for telling me it was a story worth pursuing. I don't think I would have finished this fan-fic without her encouragement. Thank-you again, Kathy!**_

_**One paragraph of explanation, for continuity and time-lines sake. This story starts toward the end of the last TV season of Quantum Leap, but before the last televised QL episode, 'Mirror Image,' and in Ghost and Mrs. Muir time, March 13, 1970, the night the GAMM TV window was closed.** _

_**GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL**_

_**Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator . . . and vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past – facing mirror images that were not his own – and driven by an unknown force to change history . . . for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al – an observer from his own time who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so, Dr. Beckett finds himself 'leaping' from life to life – striving to put right what once went wrong . . . and hoping each time that his next 'leap' will be the leap home.**_

_**GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL**_

**Ghost Leap**

_**Prologue**_

Dr. Sam Beckett was floating in a void . . . somewhere in a field of blue light . . . Without sensation and feeling . . . with no weight, no smell, no taste . . . an existence without body . . . without an anchor. Then he hit solid ground again. He had materialized on the balcony of a house facing the sea. There was a sailing ship's wheel mounted over at one end, and a beautiful blonde woman was looking at him with love in her eyes.

"Thank-you again for everything you did tonight, Captain." She smiled at him and continued. "Suggesting the renewal of vows service, my pearls . . . everything was so beautiful! I can't imagine a better anniversary dinner." She gave him a loving look.

_Wedding service? Pearls? _"Uhh . . . your-welcome." He stared at her. _So we're married? _he thought.

She walked through the French doors into the master bedroom. He followed her — past the telescope and binnacle by the window, and he looked around at the distinctly masculine room with strategically placed feminine touches here and there and noted the manual typewriter on the desk and stacks of papers surrounding it.

"Well, goodnight again, Captain Gregg . . ."

"Uhh . . . okay . . ." He looked at the bed.

"Well? Aren't you going now?"

"To . . . where?" He looked at the bed again.

"To the widow's-walk maybe?"

"Widow's-walk?"

"You know — " she said, pointing upwards, "Up there? On the roof?"

"Uhh . . . yeah . . . " His voice trailed off as he tried to think of what to say next.

"You are behaving very strangely all of a sudden, Captain Gregg." She gave him a quizzical look. "You're normally on night-watch by now . . ."

"Night-watch?"__

"Yes. _Night-watch. W_hat you've done every night possible — in the two years that I've known you anyway!"

"Well," he replied, looking at the bed again and then at the woman. "I suppose I should get some sleep first — "

_"Sleep!? _What's all this about sleep? Ghosts don't sleep!"

_**"Oh Boy . . .**_


	2. CHAPTER 01

_**Chapter One -- March 13, 1970 – 11:30 p.m.**_

Sam Beckett gave the petite green-eyed blonde woman in front of him a slightly bewildered look and reluctantly, he walked back onto the balcony. He strolled as casually as possible, under the circumstances, over to the ship's wheel and looked out toward the bay. If nothing else, maybe he could get a better look at the area he had leaped into this time! He could hear the sounds of the ocean — the crashing of the waves on the rocks on the beach, he judged, about half a mile away from the front of the house, and he heard the cry of the gulls, and smelled the salt in the air. He heard the woman close and latch the French doors behind him and realized he was now stranded on the balcony for the night.

"Al? . . . Al? . . . Are you there?" he asked hesitantly, and looked around.

No answer.

_Well . . . _he thought. _Not an unexpected turn of events!_ San's holographic partner and friend, Admiral Albert Calavicci, lead an extremely interesting personal life of his own . . . and as best as he could remember, This wasn't the first time that Al hadn't been there to meet him at the beginning of a 'leap,'_ But one can always hope!_

Sam looked around the balcony again, and tried to assess his situation. The night was warm, thank goodness, and unlike many of his previous leaps, he was not in any immediate danger . . . _that, in itself is an improvement! _His thoughts continued.

He looked out in front of him and to the grounds below. It was an average-sized front yard. There was a stone gate with a couple of crooked gateposts in front, bordering the road and a bumpy flagstone walkway leading from the road to the front porch which was flanked by two huge stone lions. A well-tended flowerbed was also in the yard, along with a particularly ugly-looking tree. Two cars were parked in front of the house — one obviously a rental car and the other a tired-looking, circa 1965 station wagon. His eyes wandered back to the yard again. There were some miscellaneous children's toys in the front yard, two older-looking bikes, a pre-fiberglass model skateboard, a baseball bat, catcher's mitt and a hula-hoop.

_Hmm . . . Hula-hoops — they came out, for first time in the late 1950's I think . . . that's a hint anyway . . . and that car is NOT new . . . but it's not as old as the '50's either . . . With that fake wood on the side . . . I gotta be in the late 60's or early 70's _–_ wonder what year is on the license plate? Now that would really be a clue! Now if I could climb down from this balcony without_ _waking up the entire household . . . maybe use the trellis? I really wish I were down by that car . . . _In the blink of an eye, Sam found himself transported down beside the station wagon. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly . . . _No . . . _He blinked his eyes again_ . . . Still here . . . What the hell_? Sam peered at the license plate on the station wagon. _1971, _he noted, _that's a start anyway _–_ but is that the year it is now, or the year the plates expire? And how on God's green earth did I end up here by the car anyway? _he wondered.

_"Albert!"_ he hissed, and looked around again, "Al Calavicci! I sure wish you would show up! Where the heck are you?" There was still no answer from his friend.

Sam paced in front of the car for a few moments, and then somewhat reluctantly pulled on the car door handle. Maybe, if he was lucky, the car door would be unlocked and he could check the glove compartment for a name on the car registration. To his relief, the car door opened. Locating the car registration in the glove compartment, he checked the name. _Carolyn Muir_ . . . _Hmm, doesn't show a Mr. Muir . . . that's promising! One less person to deal with! _Sam began to investigate the rest of the car. In the back seat he found what were obviously schoolbooks. The name on one of the books read 'Jonathan Muir,' and in the inside of one of the school notebooks, there was a graded homework assignment dated March 12, 1970.

_. . . That means there's a son, _he thought, tucking the paper back into the notebook, and putting the books back where he found them, _and it's sometime around March 12, 1970. _Then, without thinking, Sam 'moved himself' to the 'way-back' section of the station wagon. Sam looked around, realizing what he had done.

_I just did it again! What on earth . . . _sighing, he looked around in the back area and found a volleyball. Written on the ball in magic-marker was 'Candy Muir.' _Okay, so there's a son AND a daughter, _he thought. As he turned to climb out of the car, he also noticed a rubber bone peeking out from under the front seat. "Damn!" he said out loud. "A _dog! _I _hate_ animals in a leap! Animals don't 'see' the person I've leaped to. They see me! And they _never_ like me! Dogs are the worst! Once, just once, I'd like to see an animal _like_ me during a leap! Oh well . . . at least I can be prepared for it this time!" Glancing toward the front seat of the car, Sam noticed the rearview mirror. Once more, he 'moved himself' to the front seat, behind the steering wheel. _Did it again . . . _he thought, as he looked in the mirror.

Reflecting from the mirror was an extremely handsome man . . . approximately 45-47 years of age. He had wavy reddish-brown hair, a moustache and full beard and piercing azure blue eyes. He was wearing a gray turtleneck and black jacket, but oddly, Sam did not feel warm, as one would expect to feel wearing a winter outfit in the warmth of a spring morning. He stared back at the reflection before him. _'Well,'_ he thought, _'Nice to see a good-looking face for a change . . . Leaping into women, even good looking ones, escaped convicts, bank robbers and chimpanzees gets a little old after a while!'_

Experimenting, Sam 'thought himself' out of the car and back to the front yard with no trouble. Looking up, he noticed the widow's-walk on the roof of the two-story house. "So _that's_ what she was talking about!" he said out loud. Concentrating, Sam 'willed' himself to the widow's-walk; hoping Al would find him before the night was over.


	3. CHAPTER 02

**Chapter Two -- March 14, 1970 – 7:30 a.m.**

Sam spent the remainder of the night and early morning up on the widow's-walk, assessing his situation. _That woman,_ _Carolyn, called me a GHOST — Can't be!,' _he thought. _But on the other hand, during my five years of leaping, I've 'leaped' into a chimpanzee, Dr. Ruth, Lee Harvey Oswald, my buddy Al Calavicci, myself at sixteen years old and a vampire or at least the man thought he was a vampire . . . in short, ANYTHING is possible!_

He tried to relax and take a nap, but found that either he was too keyed-up to sleep, or, as he decided about four a.m., maybe ghosts don't sleep — if he WAS a ghost, that is. Whatever the case, he had nothing to do but pace, look at the twinkling stars above and the bay below with a hand-held telescope he had found on the widow's-walk and wait for Al, who still had not made an appearance.

By seven a.m., Sam had spent most of the night pacing, waiting and then watching the sunrise. As the sun came up, he peered around again at the area surrounding the house. _Yeah . . . Great view, private location, near the ocean somewhere, a dirt road, which means not much traffic . . . not a lot of other houses around,_ he mused. _Maybe I can just leap in, put right whatever it was that went wrong here and leap out without a lot of hassle for once. Of course, I do have to know what that is first! And somehow . . . if I really have leaped into a ghost, I just don't think that's_ _gonna happen! _Frustrated, Sam pounded his fist on the railing.

"Wait a minute!" Sam said out loud. "If I'm a ghost, why can I hit the railing? My hand should go _through_ the railing — The same way Al, as a neuro-hologram can walk through things where I am! Yet . . . I can transport myself to wherever I want to with no trouble . . . that's very ghost-like!"

Sam walked back and forth on the widow's-walk and continued to talk to himself. "C'mon Sam, _think!_ You're a scientist with seven doctorates for crying out loud! This should NOT be that complicated!" He looked to the road and was about to transport himself down to the front of the house again when the young blonde woman, Carolyn Muir, came out of the house carrying a large suitcase. An older man and woman followed her — the man, also carrying a suitcase, and the older woman a small overnight bag. Sam found, to his surprise, that he could hear their conversation clearly, despite how far away he was from them.

"Good-bye, Mom! Dad!" Carolyn gave them each a warm hug and a kiss. "I'm sorry the kids aren't up to say goodbye but . . ."

"Don't worry, darling!" said her mother, with a smile; "It's Monday . . . and the beginning of their spring break — let them sleep!"

"No sense waking them up to say goodbye for five minutes!" growled her father. "I _do_ wish we had been able to say goodbye to your Captain Gregg, though! I still think he's a little _strange, _honey!" He shuddered. "Do _think_ about it for a while before you make any decisions, Okay?"

"Now, Brad!" said her mother, protesting, "I promised Carolyn last night that we are through meddling in her affairs!"

"I know, Emily, but . . ." the older man smiled at Carolyn, "I guess parents really don't know when do quit, do they? Goodbye Lynnie — we love you! And we trust you . . . whatever you decide to do!"

"Don't worry, Mom . . . Dad . . ." Carolyn said, thinking to herself what a poor substitute Claymore Gregg was for his great-uncle, "I really don't see the Captain and me getting married . . . not anytime in the immediate future anyway!" She gave them both another hug and then her parents got into the rental car and drove away — Carolyn waving to them until they were out of sight.

Sam turned away from Carolyn as she walked back into the house. _If I am a ghost, _he thought, totally confused, _how could she marry me? Did I leap in here to get these two together? Can ghosts get married? _

Feeling caged and perplexed, Sam pounded on the railing again. "Al! Where the hell _are_ you?"


	4. CHAPTER 03

**Chapter Three – 9:30 a.m.**

"Good morning, Captain Gregg!"

Sam turned around. _Has to be Jonathan . . . _Sam thought, waving to the seven-year-old boy with what he hoped was a 'natural' response. "Uhh . . . good morning . . . Uhh . . . Jon-Jonathan! How are you this morning?"

"Fine, Captain!" the boy responded. "Mom wants to know if you were planning on joining us for breakfast. She said it would be all right. Grandpa and Grandma left early this morning." He started back down the stairs, and then turned back around. "Martha made pancakes!" He looked at his hero again. "Well? Aren't you coming? You know you love Martha's pancakes!" He turned again and started clattering down the stairs to the kitchen.

Sam watched the boy leave, and scratched his head. With the attic stairway door open, he could smell the fragrant pancakes, the bacon cooking and fresh coffee. His mouth watered. _How long has it been since I've had a real home-cooked breakfast? Ages. Not since . . . since I leaped into myself at sixteen years old in Elkridge Indiana. Then it was Mom who cooked . . ._ he thought, and sniffed the air again_. Well, strange for a 'ghost' to be eating breakfast! But . . . _he reasoned, _but if they don't find it odd_ . . . _what am I waiting for?'_ Sam started down the stairs after the boy.

"Good morning, Captain!" said Martha, as he entered the kitchen, two steps behind Jonathan.

Sam looked at the older woman making pancakes in front of the old-fashioned stove. _Oh, of course . . . guess she would have a housekeeper. _Sam thought to himself as he looked for a place to sit.

"Good morning, Captain Gregg!" Carolyn and Candy echoed from their seats.

Carolyn pointed to the chair directly across from her as Martha placed a steaming plate of pancakes in front of him. "We saved you a place!" Carolyn smiled as he sat down and put the butter and a pitcher of syrup in front of him.

"Uhh . . . Thanks . . . Thank-you." Sam stammered, trying to get his bearings. He still didn't get it. _Ghosts that eat? _But he didn't care . . . the food smelled too good, and _looked_ to good to resist!

"Coffee, Captain?" Martha asked, pot in hand.

"Yes . . . Thanks again." He smiled, and took a sip. It was heaven. Best coffee he had tasted in ages! "_Great_ coffee . . ." and he tackled the pancakes.

Martha sighed. "Nice to see you enjoying yourself, Captain! I love watching men eat!" and she grinned at him.

"Martha says we're celebrating," said Candy, pausing between bites of her pancake and bacon sandwich.

"What's that?" Sam asked with his mouth still half full — The pancakes were light as a feather. He _was_ hungry and this breakfast was a dream come true!

"All boarders repelled, Sir!" Jonathan said as he threw Sam a jaunty salute, "Grandma and Grandpa left for home without us 'spilling the beans,' and Claymore has dropped anchor somewhere else!"

"Jonathan!" said Carolyn reprovingly, "You know that's not very nice! What would we have done without Claymore pretending to be the Captain?"

Jonathan nodded. "I know, Mom, but it's still nice that everything worked out Okay last night."

"Yeah, Captain!" said Candy, looking at Sam. "The wedding ceremony redo for Grandpa and Grandma was really neat!"

"It's called a Renewal of Vows Ceremony, sweetheart." Carolyn said looking at her daughter with a smile. "And you're right . . ." She turned and looked at Sam with a soft glow in her emerald eyes. "I told you last night, Captain, it was a beautiful ceremony. I thank-you for it . . . for your idea . . . and thank-you also for the pearls you finagled Claymore into giving me last night." She stopped, her face turning pink, obviously thinking of something that had happened that she was _not_ about to mention at the breakfast table.

_So that's what she was talking about! _Sam thought as he listened to the conversation intently, filing the information away for future reference. Martha poured 'Captain Gregg' another cup of coffee and the children pushed themselves away from the breakfast table.

"Great breakfast, Martha!" they chorused.

"So . . . " said Sam, desperately looking for something to say, "What time are you two due home from school again?"

Candy groaned. Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Captain!" Candy said. "I thought you were _listening_ last night! We're on spring break this week, remember?" Candy heaved a sigh at the inconsistencies of grownups — ALL grownups — ghostly or otherwise.

"Yeah, Captain!" chimed in Jonathan. "Spring break! Baseball camp starts Thursday, but you promised to take me fishing sometime this week too! Don't you remember?"

"Me too!" said Candy. "Just because I haven't known about you as long as Jonathan has doesn't mean you can forget about me!"

Sam smiled at the pair and grinned. "Just wanted to see if you were really paying attention!" He covered himself. _Candy's right, _he thought. _Her grandmother did say they were on spring break this week! _And he took another swallow of his cooling coffee — reluctant to leave the table any sooner than he had to.

"Just think," Candy mused, "a whole week! No homework, no car pool . . ."

"Nothing to do but relax!" Jonathan added, smiling, "Just fun!"

Carolyn shot them a _'mother look'_ and Sam picked up on it, remembering his own childhood, when spring break meant extra work on the Beckett Dairy Farm his late father had operated.

"Oh, I don't know . . ." Sam paused and looked at the children. "I imagine one could keep themselves pretty busy around here . . . looks like there's lots of things that need doing."

The children gave 'the Captain' a questioning look, and Martha and Carolyn turned to see what the _'ghost'_ had up his sleeve.

"What do you mean, Captain?" Jonathan queried, looking at his friend.

"Well . . ." Sam said slowly, "The front yard needs to be picked up, the car needs to be cleaned; inside and out, that front gate is sagging, needs to be fixed . . . " he continued, warming up to his joke. "Those flagstones in front should be dug up and leveled — I think the flowerbed has weeds that need to be removed, the widow's-walk really could stand to have the banister repainted . . ." The children's groans cut him off. He smiled, first returning Martha and Carolyn's grins, and then at the children. "But I think we can settle for keeping your room neat and helping Martha when she asks you to — okay?" he said, and then he turned and winked back at the women at the table.

"_We_ get it, Captain!" said Candy. "Martha and Mom _aren't_ on vacation . . . right?"

"I gotcha, Captain Gregg!" added Jonathan. "Hey! That was pretty sneaky!"

"Sneaky is what grownups do best!" said Sam, and he buried another smile in his coffee cup.

Carolyn and Martha hid smiles of their own — wondering what had suddenly made 'Captain Gregg' so aware of what it took to keep his house 'Ship-shape and Bristol-Fashion,' and beamed back at him.

There was the sound of barking on the outside of the kitchen door and Jonathan looked at his mother.

"Can we let Scruffy in now, Mom? We're all done . . ." he said, pointing to his empty plate, and reaching for the door.

"The Captain's not done yet!" said Martha and Carolyn, at the same time.

"Uhh . . ." said Sam, dreading the inevitable when it came to dealing with animals, "I'd rather you . . ."

But Jonathan had opened the door, and the terrier had plunged inside — and headed straight for 'Captain Gregg.'

Sam braced himself for the worst, already trying to think of explanations he would surely need. The little animal was sure to growl at him.

_"Groufff?"_ Scruffy barked, and looked at Sam with his ears perked up. The little animal pranced around Sam's feet, and then rolled over on his back — waiving his legs in the air and whining.

"Scruffy wants you to give him a belly rub," said Jonathan.

"Looks like he is finally beginning to like you, Captain Gregg!" said Candy, "Better go along with him or he'll _never _leave you alone!"

Sam grinned. _Well isn't this a switch!_ he thought, reaching down to pat the dog's stomach, _I wish THIS happened more often!_

"Wonder what's up with Scruffy?" Martha mused, half to her herself, "Never thought I'd see the day Scruffy would want Captain Gregg to give him a belly rub!" After a few minutes of watching 'Captain Gregg' placate Scruffy, Candy and Jonathan headed for the door.

"Can we go practice baseball out in the front yard, Mom?" asked Jonathan.

"Yeah, Mom!" said Candy "We really need to if we're going to be ready for this weekend!" she added, as she stood and waited for her mother's answer.

Sam took another sip of coffee and looked at Carolyn, waiting for her response.

The Imaging Chamber door opened and Albert Calavicci stepped through it. Instead of appearing as he usually did, however, as a realistic holographic image, his figure shifted in and out with static — like a badly tuned television set. Al glanced at Sam.

"It's about time I found you!" he shouted, "Ziggy! He's here — get a lock on him!" Al's image shifted and became clear. "Sam . . . excuse yourself . . . we gotta talk . . ."

"I know the drill, Al . . ." Sam muttered, then, standing, he said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to go the restroom — "

"WHAT?!" chorused the family, looking at him.

"Sam!!" Al hissed, "You're a GHOST! Ghosts don't DO bathrooms!!!"

"I mean, I think I left my . . . Uhh . . . telescope in there . . ." Sam paused. "Well, I guess I'll see you all later . . . " He vanished from sight quickly, willing himself back to the widow's-walk, and waited for Al — leaving a befuddled group in the kitchen.

"What would Captain Gregg be doing in the bathroom — with a telescope?" Jonathan asked, wonderingly.

Carolyn Muir looked at the space that Sam had vacated — a frown replacing the smile that had been on her beautiful face.


	5. CHAPTER 04

**Chapter Four – 10:30 a.m.**

The Imaging Chamber door opened up on the widow's-walk and Al entered — snickering.

"Well," he drawled. "Appearing . . . disappearing . . . I thought that was _my_ gig! You must be pleased with yourself, buddy!"

Sam eyed the smaller man in the lime green suit standing in front of him. "You could have _warned_ me!" he said, clearly embarrassed.

"That's what you get for using that same tired excuse over and over again!" said Al, chuckling. "Do you know how tired I get of talking to you in the _head?_ Serves you right!"

Sam sighed. "Al . . . we really don't have time for this . . . Who or what _am_ I? What can you tell me?"

"What do you know already?" Al asked, trying to speed up the process.

Sam exhaled loudly. "Well, I know my name is Captain Gregg — "

"Captain _Daniel_ Gregg," Al interrupted.

"Do you want to tell me, or do you want me to tell you?" Sam said testily. "Make up your mind!"

"Sorry, buddy. " Al apologized. "We didn't get a neuro-lock on you as fast this time, and I forgot you might have actually have had a chance to do some of your own scut-work."

"It's all right, Al." Sam said, as he looked out toward the bay, "What took so darn long, anyway?"

"It's just that we had a little trouble tuning into your frequency this time, that's all. Ziggy won't say what she thinks the problem was. Personally, I think it has to do with the . . . Uhh . . . person you leaped into. Doesn't matter now, I guess. We have a good lock on you now, anyway." Sam turned and looked at his holographic comrade.

"I know my name is Captain _Daniel_ Gregg. I think the date is somewhere around March 13th or 14th, 1970. I know that the blonde woman down in the kitchen is Carolyn Muir and the older woman is 'Martha — somebody — "

"Grant," Al interjected.

"Grant," Sam added, frowning. "The little girl is 'Candy' and the little boy is 'Jonathan.' Nice kids . . . and, yeah, the dog's name is Scruffy, and he _likes me_, which is _really_ nice!" Sam stopped, and stared at his friend. "But, if I've got this right, and I think I do . . . Al, is it possible? That woman, Carolyn . . . last night — she said I was a GHOST!" He paced up and down. "Al . . . am I a ghost?"

_"Booooo!"_ said Al, waiving his arms in the air and grinning, "Good job, kid . . . you've got the basics! Now let me fill you in on the rest of it."

Al walked over to the widow's-walk railing and looked at the view of the ocean.

"It's pretty here," he remarked. "I'd forgotten what a beautiful area of the country Maine is. Guess I've been stuck in the desert too long. It's March 14, 1970." He paused. "You know, you don't leap into this period in time very often. Last time you did, you were in Vietnam — then there was that time you were an Indian — "

_"Al — _" Sam began.

"I know, I know . . ." Al punched a few of the glowing cubes on his handlink. "I was just thinking . . . I was still a POW in 1970. It's nice to get a good view of what 'back home' looked like then . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Al, I'm sorry . . ." Sam began again.

"Don't interrupt." he growled, turning his back on Sam for a moment, and then turned to face his friend again. "You're right," he repeated. "It's March 14, 1970 and your name is Captain Daniel Elias Alexander Gregg. You were born in, we think, in 1825. Ziggy is a little hazy on that one, and we haven't confirmed it with Captain Gregg yet. You ran away to sea when you were around fourteen years old. Ziggy says Gregg is a self-educated man and he . . . you, became Captain of your first ship before you were thirty years old. You also fought in the Mexican War. Somewhere along the line you designed and built this house. It was considered to be a real showplace in its time . . . you . . . _he_ used all the best materials to build it, and it's really stood up well, considering how much neglect there has been to it in the last hundred years or so. Your great-nephew, Claymore Gregg, who you refuse to _admit_ is your nephew, by the way, currently owns this house, and hasn't spent any more money for repairs on it than absolutely necessary. You and Claymore don't get along very well. Think about Gooshie with a Scrooge complex. Gregg was considered a hero, even in his own time." Al paused and punched a few more buttons on the handlink and continued.

"This Claymore Gregg guy rents Gull Cottage to Carolyn Muir, the lady you met downstairs. She's a widow, by the way. Her husband Robert . . ." He slapped the handlink again, ". . . . or Richard . . . don't know which — don't worry about that, he's not important anyway — died six years ago in Philadelphia. Car accident. She lives here at Gull Cottage with her two children and her housekeeper. Like I said, she's a writer. Magazines, short stories, newspaper articles, you know, feature stuff. One story, _'Maiden Voyage,'_ in a now-defunct magazine called '_Feminine View,'_ made a big splash, but she never followed that one up with any other stories like it. No novels or anything like that. The family has lived here almost two years." Al paused as he lit a cigar.

Sam looked at his friend. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"About who? Carolyn Muir?"

"No . . . about Captain Gregg."

"Oh, yeah . . ." Al punched another series of buttons on his handlink. "You . . . he . . . died November 13, 1869. A suicide . . ."

_"Suicide_??!" Sam exclaimed.

"Only it wasn't a suicide after all . . ." Al continued smoothly. "Seems it was an accident with the gas heater that brought about your . . . his death. There was a front-page story about the mistake made in 1869 that called it a suicide. The retraction was published locally first . . . then it was picked up by all the wire services. It was kinda cool really . . . he had been a real hero of this town . . . that's Schooner Bay, Maine by the way — and it was good for the town to have his name cleared." Al grinned. "It was probably nice for HIM too — getting everything straightened out after a hundred years!" He punched another button. "Ziggy says the retraction clearing Captain Gregg of suicide was published last year though . . . so _that_ can't be why you're here!"

"But Al . . . why AM I here? Why is _Gregg_ here for that matter? Are you really telling me I have leaped into a _ghost?_ How? Why?"

"You leaped into a VAMPIRE once, buddy!"

"We never were able to really _prove_ that Al . . ."

"Well, you're definitely a ghost . . ." Al shrugged.

"Al, I _can't_ be a ghost. There has to be another explanation!"

"_Why_ can't you be a ghost? You materialized yourself from the kitchen to up here without any trouble!"

Sam rolled his eyes, and looked at his friend. "Well, that's true . . . " he replied,_ "But since when can ghosts make contact?"_ Sam asked.

"Whaddya mean? _Make contact?"_ responded Al.

"This morning . . ." Sam took a deep breath. "This morning . . . I had a cup of coffee, bacon and pancakes for breakfast. I gave the dog a belly rub . . . no one downstairs thought it was strange . . . " He faced the bay again. "And early this morning, I did this!" And he slammed his fists on the widow's-walk railing.

"You're right Sam — that _is_ weird. But everything indicates you ARE a ghost. We have established that the man . . . uhh . . . spirit . . . spectre . . . in the Waiting Room is Daniel Gregg — and _history_ places his death in 1869. It's a matter of public record. And he's in the Waiting Room . . . and you're here . . . and you look like him . . . that makes you a ghost." Al shrugged again. "Face it — you're him! Have you tried to ACT like a ghost?"

"What? Waive my arms and moan?" Sam said, sarcastically.

"No, Sam . . . " Al retorted, "Get serious, okay?"

Sam looked doubtful. "You mean, concentrate and then walk through a wall or something? Like in that movie . . . what do you call it . . . ?"

Al rolled his eyes again and tried to be patient with his friend. "Yeah, Sam . . . the movie . . . _'Ghost.'"_

"No . . ."

_"Well, try it!!!" _Al exploded.

Sam concentrated, and raised his hand over the banister of the widow's-walk. Slowly, his hand came down and passed through the banister.

"Al . . . " Sam paused, "I did it! I really AM a ghost!" Sam started moving around the widow's-walk — appearing and disappearing several times, sinking into the floor and rising back up and floating above the ground. _"Whoo-hoo!"_ said Sam. "This is fun! Maybe we can try a boxing match — hologram against spirit! Whaddya say?"

"Sounds like a blast . . ." Al said, "But we still have a problem . . ."

"Let me guess . . ." Sam snorted, "Ziggy has _no idea_ why I am here. So what _else_ is new?"

"We're _working_ on it!" Al shot back. "I don't like the idea much, but we may have to 'pump' this Gregg guy . . ."

"Do you do that a lot?" Sam asked, wonderingly. Because of the 'Swiss Cheese' leaping effect, Sam's memories changed from leap to leap, and Albert Calavicci found himself having to relay information garnered in his time to his friend more than once . . . when he was allowed to, that is. There was a lot that Sam didn't remember about his own time that Al _couldn't_ tell him.

"Sometimes, buddy." Al replied. "Sometimes, it helps . . ." His voice trailed off, not wanting to give away too many details about what was happening in the world that Sam left when he started 'leaping' five years before.

"Well, do it if you have to." Sam said. "I have a feeling this is gonna get kinda strange. So far, Candy, Jonathan and Martha haven't noticed anything different — except for my 'bathroom' slip maybe. But Mrs. Muir . . . Carolyn . . . I don't know what to CALL her even. She kept looking at me during breakfast. I think she may have noticed that something is up. I'm not sure. Just figure out what I'm supposed to be doing here, okay?"

"We're working on it, Sam. In the meantime, try to avoid using her name at all." Al scratched his head. "Hang out with the kids — take a walk — explore the house — you're a _ghost_ for Pete's sake — just . . . lurk — okay? Ziggy says you can make yourself invisible to anyone you don't want to see you and visible to anyone you do, by thinking it — just like you can do with the solid/not solid thing. So just avoid Carolyn Muir . . . or at least calling her by name . . . until we can figure a few other things out, okay?"

"Okay, Al," said Sam, doubtfully,". . . But I have a feeling that this is _not_ going to work . . ."

Al punched a series of buttons on the handlink and the Imaging Chamber door opened. He stepped through it, and it closed behind him, leaving Sam alone on the widow's-walk.


	6. CHAPTER 05

**Chapter Five**

Al stepped cautiously out of the Quantum Leap Imaging Chamber and walked down the hallway that led to the Control Room, punching buttons on his handlink as he went, and then spoke to Project Quantum Leap's Parallel Hybrid Computer on a private channel.

"Ziggy? Have there been any significant changes while I was inside this time?" Al had learned through bitter and embarrassing experience to ask the question. Due to what he had privately nicknamed _'Sam's Ripple Effect,'_ caused by Sam's leaping about in time, sometimes there would be minor, or not-so-minor changes in the people and/or situations involved in the Quantum Leap Project, and only he and Ziggy ever seemed to be aware that the changes had happened at all. Al attributed this to the fact that he was INSIDE the Imaging Chamber with Sam, while the changes in time, space and history were being made OUTSIDE – caused by Sam as he 'put right' whatever God, Time or Whoever had decreed had gone 'wrong' in time. Ziggy had not contradicted his theory, so far, but considering Sam had designed the computer with the ego of Barbra Streisand, Al knew that Ziggy not saying anything did not necessarily mean that HE was right . . . it just meant that the stubborn computer just didn't like to admit she was WRONG.

Several times, for instance, Al had come out of the Imaging Chamber to find that his girlfriend Tina, Quantum Leap's Pulse Communications Technician, wasn't his girlfriend anymore. A few times she had been dating/sharing quarters or married to Gooshie, and twice she hadn't been working on the Quantum Leap Project at all. Along the same lines, at times he had come out of the Imaging Chamber and found Gooshie sporting a mustache or beard or both — that he had not had when Al went into the Imaging Chamber earlier the same day. The paint color in the 'Waiting Room' kept changing from ice blue to white and back again. Once Al had even found himself married for a sixth time, but the 'wife' was gone after Al's next trip inside the chamber. Sometimes Ziggy's voice changed its timbre or sex all together — but one thing never changed. The super-hybrid computer was always a smart aleck.

_"No Admiral,"_ replied the feminine voice of Ziggy, _"There has been no significant change to your time-line. I trust you are relieved that you are not married to wife number seven."_

Al realized that the quirky computer had insulted him once again; but he WAS relieved. He really didn't need any more complications at the moment.

"Hello . . . Admiral?" queried Gooshie "How is he doing? "How is he holding up this time?"

Al flinched and moved as far away from Gooshie as he politely could. That was another thing that NEVER seemed to change . . . Gooshie; the talented Head Programmer of Project Quantum Leap, had a severe case of halitosis that WOULD NOT go away — regardless of what Gooshie or anyone else tried to do for it. Most of the time Al tried to stand 'downwind' of him . . . as much as one could in a sterile computer environment anyway!

"He's okay . . . for the moment," replied Al, reservedly, deciding not to discuss Sam's ghost experiments with anyone yet. "He knows who and _what_ he is anyway . . . and he knows the names of all the people he's with . . . he's sorta 'faking it' until Ziggy can figure out what he is here to change. Has she come up with anything yet? How's our 'Visitor?'"

"Nothing from Ziggy yet, Admiral, but we've been having a terrible time here . . . " Gooshie whined. "Our Visitor. . . This Captain Gregg . . . I know he _looks_ like Dr. Beckett while he's here in the Waiting Room, but he sure doesn't _talk_ like him! He won't _shut up!_ I never heard anyone curse . . . and _yell_ so much! He keeps asking if Carolyn is all right, and demands to be taken back to _Gull Cottage_." Gooshie continued, wiping his sweaty brow. "I know the circumstances and all are just a little different this time, but I really think you ought to talk to him. He keeps demanding to talk to 'someone in charge,' and frankly, I know I don't look the part! Doctor Beeks hasn't been able to calm him down either. And when I did try to talk to him once, he called me _'Bilge Breath'_ — and . . ."

"Have you given him a mirror yet?" Al interrupted, suppressing the laugh he wanted desperately to have at Gooshie's expense – _'Bilge-Breath!'. . . He would have to remember that one!_

Gooshie shook his head. "We figured he was upset enough. Maybe you can give it a try?"

If Project Quantum Leap's top psychiatrist Verbena Beeks hadn't been able to calm this Captain Gregg down, the duty fell on his shoulders, Al knew — _and I'm honor-bound to give it a shot! _he thought

"I guess it's up to me," Al snapped. "So he wants to see someone IN CHARGE, huh?" he continued, looking at Gooshie, "I got an idea . . . I'll be right back. Just hold the fort a few more minutes, okay?" Al slapped the Head Programmer on the shoulder and headed for his quarters.

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

All heads turned as Admiral Albert Calavicci strode back into the Quantum Leap Control Room.

_"You really should make an effort to dress in your uniform more often, Admiral."_ The computer's voice cooed. _"You look much more presentable than in those Day-Glo outfits you usually wear." _the computer continued, giving Al a long low whistle.

_"Can it, Ziggy!"_ said Al, with a thinly veiled disgust. "I don't need compliments from a stuck-up parallel hybrid computer." He added, looking around for the project's Head Programmer.

"Admiral Calavicci!" said Verbena Beeks, shocked, "Why on earth are you wearing your dress whites?"

"The situation calls for it," he answered shortly. "Where's Gooshie?"

"Here, Admiral," Gooshie replied, stepping from behind a computer console. "What can I do for you now . . . Sir?" The sight of him in full uniform always cowed Gooshie, and Al knew it.

"You said I had to talk to this Captain Gregg," drawled Al. "Fine . . . but we're going to do it MY way."

"Which means what?" Gooshie asked, giving Al a panicky look.

Al shrugged. "Meaning it may be necessary to break a rule . . . maybe two," he said.

"Admiral, I . . . " he started, but Al stopped him.

"Gooshie, listen!" Al paused. "If this guy Gregg really is a seaman, and born in 1825, like Ziggy says, it means he's from the old school — I mean the REALLY old Navy school. The only way I can hope to calm him down is by commanding his authority . . . and gaining his respect and confidence, right?"

"Right, but . . ."

"But, nothing." Al stopped him and pulled a handful of Chivello cigars out of his pocket. "I'm taking these into the Waiting Room with me."

"Admiral! You know you can't smoke in the Waiting Room!" Gooshie said aghast. "The waiting room is a sterile environment! That's where all the people Sam leap into stay! You can't expect me to . . ."

"You can, and you will." replied Al. "This guy Sam leaped into is _REALLY_ a ghost! That means he is suddenly without his powers . .. . and removed from everyone and everything he knows, which is why he is so hostile to everyone right now, right?"

Gooshie nodded.

"So the least I can do is offer him a cigar while I talk to him, right?"

"How do you know he smokes cigars?" Gooshie queried.

"ALL real Navy men smoke cigars! Turn on a few extra filters and fans or something . . . I'm going in!" Al answered with a wink. _How he loved pulling one over on the Project Big Boys!_

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

The door of the Project Quantum Leap Waiting Room slid open and Al walked through it — the door closing so fast behind him that 'Captain Gregg' couldn't have escaped even if he had tried. Not that he could have gotten anywhere anyway — the project was located in the New Mexico desert — ten stories underground. One had to pass through several security check-points before they reached the top level, and even then, where was there to go? Only one leaper had ever escaped from the Quantum Leap Project Area — and that was only because, for some strange reason, he had leaped in with a loaded gun! They never _had_ figured that one out!

Daniel Gregg had his back turned as Admiral Albert Calavicci entered the room and turned to face him as the door snapped shut.

"Captain Daniel Gregg?" Al said quickly and authoritively, hoping to gain the upper hand at once.

The nineteenth-Century seafarer looked at Albert Calavicci with interest. "You ARE Navy sir? I ask only because I have been a bit out of touch with the Navy for a while, but your uniform . . ."

"I am." replied Al, keeping the tone of his voice level and his face blank. "_Admiral _Albert Calavicci."

"I am Captain Daniel Elias Gregg, Sir." Captain Gregg saluted him.

Al returned the salute quickly. "At ease, Captain Gregg." He moved toward a chair, pulled another chair over near the first, and motioned Gregg to sit. "Cigar?" he asked, holding one out toward the Captain.

"Thank-you Admiral, I believe I will."

"Before you start asking questions, Gregg, I would like to explain a few things to you, and possibly ask you a few questions. Are you all right with that?" Al said, as he lit the Captain's cigar.

"You out-rank me sir. It would appear I have no choice for the time being. My first and only concern, if I may" . . . The spirit looked at the Admiral worriedly, ". . . Is my family all right? Candy, Jonathan, Martha, and . . . " he paused, . . . Carolyn . . .? Are they all well?"

"They're fine. At least they were when I last saw them," replied Al, truthfully.

"And that was . . . ?" the Captain asked.

"At breakfast." Al replied. "You missed out on Martha's pancakes." he added.

"May I ask . . . ?" The Captain's voice gained in volume ". . . Why in blue-blazes have I been _brought_ here?"

"You may," said Al, striving to keep his voice level. "Regulations may not allow me to answer _every_ question you may have, but most I will be able to, or at least be able to give you a reason why I can't. Unless you are one in three-million, you won't remember this conversation when Sam finishes whatever he has to do and you 'leap' out anyway."

"Leap?" the seaman asked, with interest.

"Leap." said Al flatly. "That's what you are in the middle of . . . A time travel experiment gone a little ca-ca. _Project Quantum Leap."_


	7. CHAPTER 06

**Chapter Six**

Al paced in the white sterile room. "Harder than I thought to get started with this . . . " he muttered. He turned and looked at Captain Gregg. "You really are a _ghost_ in you normal state?" he asked him, fascinated.

"Yes, Sir, I am," replied Daniel Gregg, puffing on his cigar. "Something of a SUPER-spirit, actually! But you were going to tell me why I am here."

"So I did!" said Al. He thought for a moment and continued. "Ever watch any television with your family? Comedy shows? Dramas? Science-fiction maybe?"

"Some," Gregg replied truthfully. "Much of it I find rather dull, actually. I did watch the moon landing with Mrs. Muir and the children — which was incredible! But as far as science fiction goes . . . " he paused and frowned. "There was one show . . . Carolyn said they were re-re-something's . . ."

"Re-runs?" Al guessed.

"Yes . . . re-runs," the seaman nodded. "Of a television show called _'Star Trek.' _I think Mrs. Muir called that program 'science-fiction.' But what in blazes does a television show have to do with me being here, instead of at Gull Cottage where I belong?" His voice started to rise in volume again.

"Because, buddy-boy." Albert Calavicci said, "When it comes to science-fiction, you have just leaped right into the middle of it." And he handed Captain Gregg a mirror.

The seaman looked into it and the clean-shaven face of Dr. Samuel Beckett stared back at him.

"By the powers!" said Gregg, to stunned to move. "Who is this . . . this _peep?_ And why is he in MY mirror?"

"That, my friend, is Dr. Samuel Beckett." Al grinned, "The founder of _Project Quantum Leap."_

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Captain Gregg handed Al Calavicci the mirror. "You have my undivided attention, Sir. I will endeavor to understand, if you will explain how this deviltry has come to pass."

"It's not deviltry," Al stated. "It's _science. _It's just a bit FUBAR'ed at the moment . . ."

"FUBAR'ed," Gregg repeated the slang nautical term, _"Fouled up beyond all recognition_ . . . You're Navy, all right!"

"Yes. Dr. Beckett . . ."

"The man in my mirror . . . " Gregg prompted him.

"Yes. Don't interrupt. Dr. Beckett developed the Quantum Leap Theory with Professor Sebastian LoNigro in the summer of 1973 . . ."

"Three years from now?" said Gregg, skeptically.

"I said don't interrupt!" said Al, lighting his own cigar. "I said he developed the THEORY in 1973. I can't tell you what year Dr. Beckett actually started 'leaping' —that's on the project no-no list. But it works like this:" Al put down his cigar and pulled a piece of twine from the pants-pocket of his uniform and held it up in front of the seaman. "One end of this string represents your birth . . . the other end, your death. You tie the ends together, and your life is a loop. 'Ball the loop, and the days of your life touch each other out of sequence. Therefore 'leaping' from one point on the string to another moves you backward or forward within your own lifetime. That was our project. Time Travel. _Project Quantum Leap."_

Daniel Gregg looked at the smaller man thoughtfully.

"Questions?" Al asked, and looked at the mariner.

"A few." Captain Gregg replied cautiously.

"Such as?"

Daniel Gregg looked at the white turtleneck body suit he was wearing and growled. "Can I change clothes? I feel undressed in this get-up. Is this what everyone in your time wears?" The seaman sounded almost embarrassed.

"'Fraid not" Al replied. "That's a Fermi-Suit. And it's needed in order to 'leap.' I really can't go into too many details there — it's very scientific, and you wouldn't understand it all anyway. It has to do with beta decay . . . I don't even understand how all of it works. Are you cold or something?" he asked, concerned.

"No . . . just slightly embarrassed at my state of undress." The Captain answered. "It looks like blasted long-underwear to me! At least it's a turtleneck! That, I am used to!"

"Sorry about that," Al said, "Anything else?"

"Yes. What do you use to power this project?" asked the Captain. "I daresay it is not the wind."

"Hardly Captain Gregg." Al grinned. "Dr. Beckett . . . Sam . . . designed _Ziggy — _a computer with an 'attitude' to run this project. We use atomic power . . . and other kinds, when we have to, just to keep Project Quantum Leap running. It cost 43 billion dollars to develop Sam's project and another 2.4 billion per year to keep it going . . . but we HAVE to. As I said, the experiment went wrong."

"Meaning what, pray-tell?" the Captain asked, another frown growing on Sam's features.

"Sam was supposed to travel through time and OBSERVE it. Instead he has become a PART of it. This time he has 'leaped' into you; Sort of — traded places, if you will. And he will STAY in you until he fixes whatever God, Time or Whoever decides he should fix. Then he will either 'leap' home into his body, that is, the body you are in now, or on to another time and another person. Either way you 'leap' back to 1970. I like to think Sam will 'leap' home."

"But . . . I look at my hand . . . it's MY hand! It's only when I look in the mirror that I see this . . . this Dr. Beckett . . . " Daniel paused. "And besides, _I'm not alive!"_ the Mariner roared. "The man in that mirror can't be more than somewhere in his late 30's! I was born in 1825 and died in 1869! I was not ALIVE in this man's lifetime! How could he have 'leaped,' as you call it, into me?"

Al looked at the seaman. "You see _your_ body because it's part of _your_ 'aura.' I can't explain it much more than that. Sometimes I don't get it all myself. I'm not a scientist — I'm an astronaut. As for the other . . ." he stopped again and looked at Gregg. "You exist as a spirit in 1970," said Al. "But a rather SOLID spirit, if I do say so!"

Daniel Gregg glared at Admiral Calavicci suspiciously. "And what the devil do you mean by that, Sir?"

"I haven't finished yet." Al looked closely at 'Captain Gregg.' "You see, I visit with you here . . . in this 'Waiting Room,' as we call it, and I see my buddy Sam looking back at me, but I know it's NOT Sam. It's Daniel Gregg. But I can also see Daniel Gregg in Maine in 1970. That person _looks_ like Daniel Gregg, but I know that's my buddy Sam. Everyone else at Gull Cottage sees 'Daniel Gregg'. . . except your dog."

"Scruffy? That walking shag-rug?"

"Yes." Al affirmed. "Animals and children under five years of age live in a natural alpha state and are exempt. Scruffy sees Sam."

"You said I was solid . . . " the seaman growled.

Albert Calavicci looked at the mariner. "As I said, with the help of what Dr. Beckett calls an Imaging Chamber, I can also see my buddy Sam as you . . . Captain Gregg." Al paused. "I've watched him do it . . . be solid, I mean. When he concentrates, he can _be solid_ and do whatever he wants to do that requires solidity. Yet we found out earlier today that when he concentrates and does NOT want to be solid, he does that too . . . very well. He can pass through objects . . . chairs, walls, with very little effort — he just _thinks_ it. By the way . . . one other quick question . . ." Al asked, absently, "Carolyn Muir — You've called her 'Mrs. Muir' and 'Carolyn.' Which is it?" It would help if I could let Sam know."

The mariner spoke; his voice low. "It was always _Mrs. Muir_ . . . until last night. After two years . . . I finally called her Carolyn. Only Mrs. Muir before that . . . " he smiled. "Except in a dream . . ."

Al stared straight into the vivid blue eyes of the seaman. "You know, my gut is telling me that Sam is not creating this 'miracle of touch' all by himself — because of him leaping into you, I mean. I don't know how, but I think it's you that can touch and be touched if you wish it. I would also hazard a guess that no one at Gull Cottage _knows_ you can be solid. I do have to wonder though why you haven't told the stunning woman you live with that." Al paused and then handed Gregg another cigar.

"I don't LIVE with her in the sense _you_ are referring to . . ." 'Gregg' growled. "God help me . . . I wish I could. This is MY business, Admiral!" He stopped, then said painfully ". . . and it's _private!"_

"Yes . . ." agreed Albert Calavicci. "But it may HAVE to become mine . . . and this project's . . . and Dr. Beckett's business, if you plan on leaping back to 1970 — where you belong. I don't think 'normal' ghosts smoke cigars Captain. You ARE a ghost, spirit, spectre — whatever. But I know you can make yourself as solid as I am. It was in that 'solid' state that Sam 'leaped' into you. Figuring out _how_ Sam leaped into you is not our chief issue here right now — not yet anyway. Our first concern is Sam HAS leaped into you to do something, or prevent something from happening . . . most likely involving your family. One way or another, my job is to find out WHAT that is and help him do it, and I _don't_ need any more guff from you! Do I make myself clear? Or do I have to make that an order, _Captain?"_

Daniel Gregg clenched his fists and glared down at Admiral Calavicci. Admiral Calavicci glared back up at the 19th-Century seaman.

"You have my word, Admiral . . . for now." Gregg said, and paused, as if there was something more that he wished to say. "But . . . " he finally continued, "It's getting blasted boring in here, just _waiting!_ May I have something to read — or can anyone around here play chess? Or do you still play chess in your time?"

Al smiled. "Ziggy will play chess with you. She likes chess."

"I thought this 'Ziggy' was trying to help you and Dr. Beckett."

"She is." Al replied. "She's really a very smart computer . . . that is when her ego doesn't get in the way! But don't tell her I said that! She can do both, I'm sure."

Al Calavicci turned on his heel and left the Waiting Room. He was convinced the seaman was not telling all he knew, but did not want to push the man any more at the moment. What else there was to be learned remained to be seen.

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

"Admiral Calavicci?" Gooshie was waiting for Al as he left the Waiting Room.

"Yes?" Al responded, studying Gooshie's expression. There was a frown on the Head Programmer's face; this just _couldn't_ be good news.

"Ziggy has finally pulled up some information. You need to get to the Control Room . . . quickly."


	8. CHAPTER 07

**Chapter Seven – 11:00 a.m.**

". . . And I told _you_, spring break or not, if you really want to be on that bus heading for weekend baseball camp, Thursday, your joint music class project has to be done! No arguments! Is that clear?" Carolyn said firmly as she rinsed the breakfast dishes. Martha sat at the table, finishing her coffee.

"But, Mom . . . " Candy started.

"But, nothing!" Carolyn retorted.

"Mom . . . " interjected Jonathan. "We don't know what to do now. It's not fair . . . homework over spring break? We had _'Yellow Submarine'_ all ready, and now Mr. Hampton has banned all Beatles songs!"

"Why?" asked Carolyn.

"He says too many kids want to sing them and the Beatles are getting ready to break up, anyway," said Jonathan, "But . . ."

"And it's NOT fair!" said Candy with a pout. "Grownups just don't like good music. Old Man Hampton said no rock and roll songs period . . . not even Simon and Garfunkel. I asked him if we could do _'Bridge Over Troubled Water'_ and he said no to that too . . . and their song is at number one this week!"

"Yeah, and Mom — " Jonathan continued, "_Let It Be _is at number three this week, and John Lennon has a single at number five . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked at his mother's face. He could tell that their arguments were getting them nowhere.

"Old Man . . . uhh, Mr. Hampton is the principal. He has the right to reject any music he doesn't see fit." Martha said. "I AM sorry for you though. I LIKE the Beatles . . . and Simon and Garfunkel! But it can't be helped. Why don't you go into the alcove and look in the piano bench? There's lots of music in there . . . if you find something that looks interesting, you work with it a little, then I'll come in and help you, okay?"

"Go on, kids!" Carolyn added, "I'm sure you can find something that you like and will work for you that adults and teachers will approve of too!"

"Okay . . ." Candy replied glumly, "C'mon Jonathan, let's go see."

Sam materialized in front of Candy and Jonathan as they walked into the alcove and looked at their sullen expressions. "So, what's with you two?" he asked.

"Hi, Captain Gregg" said Candy, with a frown. Sam smiled and knelt down in front of them.

"You should see the FACE on your face!" He said, making a similar face of his own. "What's the problem?"

Jonathan grinned at his hero in spite of himself. "Aww, Mom's just not being fair, Captain! You know that music project Candy and me . . . _I . . . _worked on last week?"

Sam nodded slowly, not having any idea what they were talking about — not unusual for his state.

"Well, now Old Man . . . _Principal_ Hampton won't let us sing _Yellow Submarine _because it's a Beatle's song" said Candy, as she flounced onto the sofa. "He's just being a square! We worked for three days getting that song ready!"

"Yeah, and Mom says we have to have our project done or we can't go to baseball camp on Thursday!" said Jonathan, frowning.

"Bummer," said Sam. "The Beatles are pretty cool. Especially John Lennon . . ."

The children looked at each other questioningly and then back at Captain Gregg. _Bummer? Cool? _They looked at each other again.

"And I suppose it counts for a big part of your grade?" Sam continued smoothly. ". . . But I'm sure we can find something!" He headed for the piano, opened up the piano bench and handed them each a stack of sheet music.

"Here . . . just start looking for anything that looks remotely interesting . . . " Sam sat down at the piano and his hands started to ripple over the keyboard. ". . . Something you can sing together, huh? What about songs from musicals?"

"Musicals?" said Jonathan, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, there are some _awesome_ songs that have come out of musicals!" said Sam, as he started playing one of his favorites.

"Hey! I know that song!" said Candy, staring at Sam again, pondering 'Captain Gregg's' choice of words. "That's _The Impossible Dream! _Is that from a musical?"

"Yes," Sam answered. It's from _The Man of La Mancha. _I think that might be a little dramatic for your purposes though . . . " Abruptly, thinking of other children's songs, he switched to the Carpenter's hit, _Sing._

"Hey, that's pretty," said Jonathan. "What song is that?"

"It's called . . ." The Imaging Chamber door opened and Al strode through it in double-quick time.

"Stop playing that, Sam!" said Al, wincing.

"Why?" whispered Sam, the music covering his lowered voice as he switched smoothly to _'Shall We Dance?'_ from _The King and I; _"It's a nice song . . . especially for kids to sing . . . and this is the first constructive thing I've done since I've been here!" he added, under his breath.

"Because it hasn't been _written_ yet! Not till next year sometime!" Al punched savagely at his handlink. "Honestly, can't you remember _anything?_ It was written for Sesame Street in 1971 but the Carpenters don't make a hit out of it till 1973!" Al ranted. "Go back to the musicals! Just don't pick something from _Phantom_, or _Chorus Line — _Okay? Ziggy says your best bet is to find something from a musical."

"That's because I programmed her and I LIKE musicals." Sam retorted. "Ask HER if she has any ideas!"

"Sam . . ." Al said, as he rolled his eyes, "Ziggy says that's not her _'blasted'_ job." He slapped the handlink again. "I think she's been talking to Captain Gregg too much!"

"Are you talking to us, Captain?" asked Candy absently, still shifting through the sheet music.

"No . . . I was talking to myself . . . " mumbled Sam.

Jonathan grinned. "That's what _Mom_ says when she's trying to make up excuses for talking to YOU in front of other people, Captain! You sure you're not talking to another ghost?"

"Yeah," added Candy, "Like Elroy Applegate?"

Sam grinned weakly and changed the subject, since once again he hadn't a clue as to what the children were talking about.

"How about this one?" He grabbed a piece of music with Mary Martin dressed as _Peter Pan_ on the cover.

"Say, that's a good song, Sam." interjected Al, who had continued to watch the proceedings with interest. "It's called _I Won't Grow Up."_

"Sounds like a song _you_ would appreciate, Al!" Sam muttered as he scanned the music and began to play. "Candy, Jonathan — I'll sing a line, and then you repeat it, okay?"

"Right, Captain Gregg!" they chorused.

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Martha glanced up from the sink, where she was finishing the breakfast dishes and looked at her employer. "Mrs. Muir, Is that the piano I hear, or is it the radio?"

"Hmm . . . What Martha?" Carolyn said, looking up from the newspaper she was reading.

"Alcove . . . Piano . . . Four different songs in the last five minutes. No mistakes. Can't be the kids doing it — Candy doesn't play that well yet. Let's go see!" Martha hung the damp rag over the sink and Carolyn put down her newspaper and they went to the alcove door – surprised at what they heard, and saw, to say the least — The Captain, and her children, were at the piano — singing!

Sam gestured for Candy to stand beside him on one side and Jonathan to position himself on his other side in front of the keyboard, where they could see the music, then he pointed to where he was on the sheet music, as he continued to sing:

As the trio launched into the second verse. Carolyn smiled in wonder and stared — first at the ever-dignified Captain Gregg singing _I Won't Grow Up,_ and then at her children and finally back at Martha, who looked just as fascinated as she did.

"Is it just me, Martha, or has the Captain been behaving very strangely today?" Carolyn asked her, as they continued to listen to the Captain and the children.

Martha glanced back at Carolyn. "You're right, Mrs. Muir . . . and this is the _strangest!"_ she shrugged. "I don't know . . . did you two have a disagreement, or anything last night? Any reason for him to so drastically change his behavior?"

"No . . . not really . . ." Carolyn spoke softly, so as not to interrupt the trio. "You know things got a little strange while Mom and Dad were here, what with Claymore pretending to be the Captain and the 'wedding' or, almost wedding, or whatever it was, but . . ." She looked at her friend. "Actually, things have been _great_ lately! The Captain and I have been working on his Memoirs a good deal you know, and we haven't been bickering or anything! Everything has been fine — right up until we all returned from Mom and Dad's dinner. We were outside, Claymore gave me the pearls, and had left. I thanked Captain Gregg because I knew he was really responsible for the gift, and he said if he were alive that the pearls would be diamonds and emeralds and there would be palaces . . . " she broke off, blushing and smiling at the memory, and continued. "Then I told him that if he were alive Gull Cottage would _BE_ a palace."

Carolyn sighed and shrugged at her housekeeper. "I think I must have scared him, or something, maybe. He was acting a little strangely when I said good night to him later up on the balcony . . ." Carolyn broke off her sentence and they both turned to watch the three finish the song.

Candy and Jonathan burst into cheers around the piano and collapsed over the keyboard, laughing as Sam chuckled at their antics. Carolyn and Martha applauded from the doorway as they came into the room.

"That's _good_, Sam!" said Al, as he punched some more buttons and showed Sam the flashing cubes on the handlink, "Ziggy says that song takes the school all the way to the music finals and wins a thousand-dollar grant for the school!"

"Thanks, Captain!" Candy said, grinning. "This is _perfect!"_

"So what'cha think, Mom?" said Jonathan, giving Carolyn a hug.

"Captain Gregg taught it to us!" beamed Candy. Smiling at the two women she added, "I didn't know Captain Gregg could play the piano, Mom!"

Carolyn gazed at the Captain. "He hasn't. Not for a long time . . ." She paused, trying desperately to put her finger on what was different, other than the obvious carefree actions of the otherwise dignified seaman, and what she had just witnessed. "Not since Claymore performed the wedding ceremony for Harvey Dillman and Gladys Zimmerman that night here almost two years ago." She turned to Candy; "That's before you and Martha knew about him, honey, but you remember, don't you?"

Candy nodded, and then went to join her brother at the window to look at the sheet music again.

Carolyn gaze shifted back to Captain Gregg. "That was wonderful, Captain! But what . . ?"

"I don't suppose that's why I'm here?" Sam was whispering to Al. "For this?" He paused. The familiar feeling . . . the tingle that always came right before a 'leap' didn't come. "Guess not . . . " he muttered, and turned to Candy and Jonathan. "You were great!" Sam exclaimed, speaking to the children, thereby cutting off Carolyn and stopping her from completing her sentence. "Of course, this is only a rough idea! You two will have to practice singing it . . . echo the words back and forth to each other. Just work with it — you'll be fine. I'd love to sing it with you but I can't!" He smiled at the two. "I wish I could!" Sam looked at Carolyn hesitantly, "Well . . ." he paused, knowing that he had to get away and talk to Al, "I guess I need to . . . go keep watch or something for a while now . . . " and slowly, he vanished.

Carolyn gazed at the spot he had vacated. _Something IS bothering him._ _And it MUST have to do with last night! I'll wait . . ._ she thought to herself. _And talk him this afternoon, or tonight — ALL night, if I need to! This has got to be cleared up!_


	9. CHAPTER 08

**Chapter Eight – 12:30 p.m.**

Up on the widow's-walk, Sam turned to his friend. "Okoy Al! I know that look. You've found out something! Now what is it?"

"Well, Sam . . ."

"Don't give me that! Do you have some news, or don't you?" Sam asked, already feeling exasperated.

"Well, as I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted . . ." Al started again, "We know there is going to be an accident, but we don't know exactly when, or where . . ."

"Ziggy pulled that up? It's not much!"

"Sam . . . it's not Ziggy . . . it's these small town newspapers. They aren't always very accurate. There's only one newspaper here in town. It's called the _Schooner Bay Beacon_. It's kind of a one-man operation run by a second-year Journalism graduate . . . guy sounds like a real nozzle from the editorials he writes. His name is Finley."

"So what has this got to do with anything, Al?"

"The paper is published every Friday, Sam. This is Monday. The paper goes to bed Wednesday night and comes out Friday. There was no paper published Friday, April 18, 1970."

"And . . ."

"Well, then the editorial the following Friday, April 25th, refers to . . ."

"To what, Al?"

_"The 'accident that claimed the lives of the Muir children last week." _Al blurted out.

_"Oh no_ . . . Sam groaned. _"Both of them? _I wonder what happened to Captain Gregg?"

"So, buddy . . ." Al said hurriedly. "What _kind_ of accident we don't know, but we know it has to happen some time between now and . . . say Friday."

"That's a hell of a window to work with, Al . . . " said Sam, pacing the widow's-walk.

"It's better than nothing, Sam." Al answered. "Ziggy is working on it and I'm still going to try and pump Gregg some more. I think there is something important he's not telling us yet. I'm not sure. Something's just not clicking." Al paused, and then remembered what else he needed to tell his friend. "Oh, by the way, Gregg told me he has always called Carolyn Muir _Mrs. Muir_. He's a formal sort of guy, that Captain Gregg! He's only called her Carolyn once. Last night. So for now, I guess you better call her Mrs. Muir."

"You know, Al," said Sam, thoughtfully, "Obviously we have to make sure Candy and Jonathan are safe, but I think some of what I'm here for has to do with the Ghost and Mrs. Muir."

"On what level, Sam?"

"I don't know, Al. I guess all I can do for now is keep my eyes open and hope for the best." Sam paused and looked down into the yard. "Speaking of which, I don't see either of the kids. I better go ask Martha where they are."

"Go for it, Sam." Al said, punching a new code into his handlink, "I need to go talk to Gregg again anyway." The Imaging Chamber door opened. "See you later, buddy . . . " said Al, stepping through the door. "Good luck."

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Sam materialized in the kitchen, right in front of Martha, startling her. "Darn it, Captain! Stop that!" said Martha, almost dropping her coffee cup, "You know I'm not as used to you 'popping' in and out as Mrs. Muir and the children are! Maybe when I've known you longer . . ."

"I'm sorry, Martha," Sam said contritely, "I'll try and do better!" He looked around. "Have you seen the kids?"

"Adam and Quentin came by about a half-an-hour ago, Captain," said Martha, "Candy and Jonathan grabbed a sandwich, their fishing poles and the volleyball and took off for the beach. They should be home by suppertime though. Was there something special you had planned to do with them?"

"No, not really . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he thought to himself. _Well, this can't be it – if there were to be an accident today, it would have said four children — or listed Adam and Quentin's names in the editorial too. _Sam relaxed. _Guess I'll have to wait a while longer_ . . .

"Are you going upstairs to work on your Memoirs with Mrs. Muir now?" Martha interrupted Sam's thoughts. "I think she is looking for you."

"Uhh . . . No Martha, not right now . . ." Sam answered, "I'm sure she can manage quite well without me. I think I'll . . . take a walk." Sam dematerialized and moved himself to the attic to hide out; leaving the puzzled housekeeper to wonder how Carolyn Muir could work on the Captain's Memoirs without the Captain.


	10. CHAPTER 09

**Chapter Nine**

Albert Calavicci came into the Waiting Room and the door snapped shut behind him. "Captain Gregg?" Al said, stepping forward.

The seaman turned from the computer screen he was facing and looked at Al. "Admiral? Sir?" he said, staring at the colorful figure in front of him. "Your attire has certainly changed from the last time I saw you!"

Al chortled, and smiled back at the seaman. "I suppose I should have said something earlier! Actually I _hate_ uniforms. Don't wear them unless absolutely pressed to . . . especially while I have been working here on _Project Quantum Leap._ Most of my clothing taste leans more in this direction . . ." and he gestured to the electric blue turtleneck and white slacks he was wearing.

"And no one reports your attire to your superiors?" the Captain asked, curious.

"I report to Sam . . . Dr. Beckett. And he's in Maine, at the moment, remember?" Al paused and let the seaman consider what he had said. "Have you been comfortable here? Ziggy keeping you busy and off the streets?"

The seafarer smiled. "Actually, I think she is irritated with me. Our last chess game was a draw, and she tried to talk her way out of it."

Al guffawed. "That's a hoot!" he exclaimed. "Ziggy has this ego, like I said — refuses — absolutely _refuses_ to admit that she can make a mistake. Hates it when she loses. It gives her a complex. Even been known to gum up her circuits for a few hours!" He patted Gregg on the back by way of congratulations and motioned him to sit. "Would you like a cigar?" asked Al, in a more serious tone. "I have a few more questions for you, and I need some straight answers. We can start with some easy ones . . . but I'm not letting you off this time. It's important. _Really_ important._ Vital_ one might say. You are just gonna have to trust me on this one."

"Thank-you . . . Yes." The Captain nodded. "This concerns Carolyn — and the rest of my family doesn't it?" The Captain asked, a frown growing once again on Sam's features.

"I can't answer that." said Al, giving the Captain a look.

"But it does." said the Captain, looking fiercer still.

"I need you to answer my questions, Gregg. You'll know what you are allowed to know, and the more cooperative you are, the better it will be for everyone concerned." Al said, giving him another look. He sighed. _Maybe I should have stayed in uniform!_ he thought to himself.

The Captain rubbed at the non-existent beard on Sam's chin, Al lit the Captain's cigar and the Captain leaned back in his chair, resignedly. "Ask away Sir. Obviously I am not going anywhere until you get the answers you need, and you have hinted that the welfare of my family is at stake. I will do my utmost to be cooperative."

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Al began.

"Captain Gregg, why are you here?"

"You explained that . . . your time experiment is FUBAR'ed . . ."

"Don't get smart!" Al snapped. "I'll rephrase the question. Why are you haunting Gull Cottage in the year 1970?"

Captain Gregg tugged on his ear and thought for a moment. "That is really a two part answer . . . " he started, and then stopped.

"Start with the beginning. That's what they always say," said Al.

"Well, as I'm sure you know, I built Gull Cottage. I built it with the idea of getting married there, raising my children there, and eventually dying there . . . at a ripe _old_ age I might add!" he paused.

"According to our records, you committed _suicide_ there." Al baited him, hoping for a reaction.

"I did NOT commit suicide!" the Captain roared. "As I have said, NUMEROUS times before, it was an ACCIDENT! There was a storm that night and it was blowing straight through the bedroom window, so I closed the window like any sensible man would. Then I kicked the blasted gas heater on with my foot in my sleep. The pilot light on the heater was not working properly and the gas did not shut off, as it should have. With the window closed, I inhaled the gas fumes and I DIED blast it! My idiot cleaning woman testified that I always slept with my windows open — " the Captain continued, fuming. "How the devil would she know how I slept? I never slept with her! That's when the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of suicide! Damn it! Look, at your blasted records again!"

"Calm down, Captain Gregg." Al said, looking at the hot-tempered seafarer calmly. "We have those records here. Ziggy had them pulled hours ago. But you still haven't answered my question_. Why do you haunt?"_

The Captain stared at the floor; the cigar forgotten in his hand, and continued. "Carolyn asked me the same question the night we met — almost two years ago. The simple truth is, I died without a will and with no direct heirs. My wedding plans with my betrothed, Vanessa, had been terminated. She had decided she could not marry a man who would be away from home so much." Al flinched, but the Captain did not see it, and he continued. "The agreement to break our betrothal was amicable, and she went to Boston. I had planned to make a will — so in case something _did_ happen to me at sea, my home, Gull Cottage, would be turned into a home for retired seamen. I knew I could always change the will again were I ever to find my heart's desire and marry. My wife, and/or children would have the house, if anything were to happen to me, and then it could still be bequeathed as a seaman's home later."

"Sounds sensible," Al said. "What happened?"

"I died before I had the will drawn up," said the Captain. "Blast it, this happened over a hundred years ago! I cannot remember everything! And I certainly could not make my voice heard in the state I was in then!" the spectre paused again, trying to remember all the events of the last hundred years. "I kept haunting my house," he said, continuing with his narrative. "I reasoned that if I could not have my way, that my blasted would-be relatives would not make a nickel at my expense either! The house could not be sold and could not be let. Besides . . . " he added, ". . . I did NOT commit suicide and I couldn't leave without blasted _proving_ that. I reasoned that sooner or later I could somehow get the records changed and then it could be turned into the seaman's home as I wished it to be. I would not be remembered forever as a coward, sir, and I _could_ not go back on my oath."

"So what did happen?" Al asked, "What changed?"

"A hundred years happened." the mariner replied soberly. "Just . . . time. Progress . . . disasters . . . wars . . . There was World War One — World War Two — The Korean Conflict, I think they called it, and now this new one I'm hearing about on the television – in a place called Vi . . . Vie . . ."

_"Vietnam."_ Al said, his voice flat, but inwardly he was cringing. "Go on."

"A hundred years of haunting . . . alone . . . seeing people only every now and then. Learning what sort of spectral powers I had. Learning to control them. A man, or a spirit can get very jaded in that time Admiral. Also very . . ."

"Lonesome?" Al offered.

The seaman nodded. "Aye, much as I hate to admit it! The ownership of my house eventually passed to my great-nephew, Claymore Gregg . . . At least he calls himself that, and I am not in a position to prove otherwise. He's a spineless jellyfish. He knows I'll keel-haul him if he were to ever try to sell the house, but he has refused to do any upkeep on the place at all."

"It's rented now." Al offered.

"Aye!" A smile lit up Captain Gregg/Sam's face. "Claymore rented Carolyn . . . Mrs. Muir the house without my knowledge. She and her family showed up on my doorstep in June of 1968 and my life hasn't been the same since." He continued, a faraway look in his eyes. "Carolyn, Martha and the children moved in, bag and baggage. I was not terribly pleased about it at first, but . . . " he shrugged, "I allowed them to stay . . . on trial. Carolyn and Martha and the children . . . they are hard to refuse. They cleaned up the place . . . they made Gull Cottage into the home it never had the chance to be." He smiled again. "We've become a family – albeit an unconventional one! The children have told me they think of me as a father . . . " His voice trailed off again, as he cleared his throat and pulled on his ear, pensively. "It was touch and go there for a while! Over the last two years, at one time or another we've both had a chance to leave but chose to stay . . . " The Captain paused, thinking about the argument Carolyn and he had had about his tree, and about how she had almost left over his infatuation with Vanessa's great-great-great granddaughter, and his equal jealousy over Blair Thompson and Sean Callahan. "We have certainly had our ups and downs along the way! Navigated some very stormy seas indeed!" he concluded with a smile.

"But you're still _there_ Captain." Al said. "As I said, we've pulled the public records. Your name has been cleared of suicide. A new seaman's home has been built in Schooner Bay. You don't need to bequeath Gull Cottage to be a seaman's home any more, so why do you still haunt?" He looked closely at the seaman. "Captain, I need an answer. That's an order!"

_"I told you before, it's personal!"_

Al gave the seaman a look that very clearly said, '_You aren't fooling me a bit.' _and cleared his throat.

"I've got you pegged, Captain. I know 'the look.' I've seen it in my mirror . . . once. That's the second part of your answer. You _are_ in love with Carolyn Muir _aren't_ you? I'm sure if it! And I'm almost positive you were getting ready to _leave_ . . . withdraw . . . whatever it is ghosts do, permanently, last night when Sam 'leaped' into you. Am I right?"

"So what if I say my answer is 'yes?'" the seaman growled, giving Al Calavicci a fierce look, "Your point is what?"

"I believe I asked you about this before, Captain Gregg." Al said, the smaller man matching the Captain's look. "When we first met, remember? Now I'm asking you again. You can be solid any time you choose to be. _I know it._ The sixty-four thousand-dollar question is _why_ won't you tell Carolyn Muir that? Why can't you TELL her you love her and be happy? Why were you going to leave?"

The Captain looked at the man across from him and sighed. "My life is over, Admiral. I lived it once. After last night, I decided that I could not spoil Carolyn's life, or Jonathan's or Candy's or Martha's or even Claymore's by interfering in them any more than I already have." Then, in a low voice he added, "Fate did not deal me a fair hand when it comes to family, Admiral. Carolyn should have been _my_ wife. Jonathan and Candy should have been _my_ children. They _all _should have been _my_ family." The Captain paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "You are right of course. I discovered that my ability to feel and be touched . . . to be solid again had come back shortly after Christmas. I don't even know _how_ it happened. Certainly nothing was communicated to me! As far as I am concerned it's a miracle. I even waited for a while; just to make sure my newfound abilities did not vanish with the dawn, or a new moon. I almost gave myself away a few times actually! I love Carolyn. I can touch her now — hold her — make love to her every night — but all that will do is further _ruin her_ _life, _for I have nothing else to offer her but my outdated self." The seaman's voice cracked. He collected himself, and continued. "Carolyn told me last night _'If you were still alive, Gull Cottage would BE a palace.'_ I _can_ touch her now, _imitate_ life, but I'm NOT alive. All I can do is complicate her life more." Daniel Gregg gave Albert Calavicci a look of total agony. "That's why I was getting ready to leave. No arguments, no guilt, no blame. Just withdraw and give her a chance to live her own life." The Captain paused again. His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

Al looked at Daniel Gregg in astonishment. "Ruin her life?" he exclaimed, "You were going to leave without saying _anything?_ How do you figure that would _help_ her Captain? Or the rest of 'your' family? You don't have the corner market on ruined lives! I'd really like to knock you upside the head! You can argue that fate _wronged_ you, but you are not the _only_ man in the world who has not had a fair shake of things! Now it's _your_ turn to listen to _me_ Gregg! AND THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Captain Gregg looked at the smaller man, astounded. Rank or not, it had been years . . . MANY years since he had been spoken to in such a manner! Daniel Gregg listened.


	11. CHAPTER 10

**Chapter Ten**

Albert Calavicci began.

"Quantum Leap's no-no list won't let me tell you exactly when I was born, but sufficed to say my childhood was horrible. I had a sister who was, for want of a better term for you to understand, 'simple.' My mother never forgave herself for having given birth to her, and left my father, sister and me and ran off with a traveling salesman. My father placed us both in an orphanage. At ten, I ran away. My father died when I was eleven, my sister when she was sixteen, in an institution. I lived and starved in the streets for quite some time. I couldn't go jump on a ship like you could!" Al stopped and savagely bit the end off another cigar, lit it, and continued.

"There were a few people that took pity on me for short periods of time . . . then I ended up back in the orphanage for a few years. As soon as I could, I joined the Navy, and I made Ensign a year later. That's when I met and married my wife — Beth." Al stopped for a moment and smiled, and then continued. The lines seemed to grow deeper on his haggard face. "Beth was a Navy Nurse. We were married for eight years but we only spent a total of two of those years together because of conflicting Navy assignments." Al heaved a ragged sigh as he looked backwards at his life.

"She was almost ready to divorce me when I signed up for a second tour of duty in Vietnam only four months after the first tour ended," he recalled. "_We_ never had any kids. Not that I didn't _want_ them, I just felt that dragging children around from place to place wouldn't be good for them. No stability. You know, the typical 'Military Brat" syndrome. What I didn't figure out until way too late was what children would have done for Beth when I was gone on assignment." He paused and looked at Gregg. "At least your Vanessa realized what the problems of an absent husband could be early on! You didn't marry her . . . and _then_ loose her!"

"I went MIA in 1967 — My A-4 went down over the highlands in Vietnam — that place you have 'heard about' on the news. I was kept imprisoned in a cage near Cham Hoi until after the U.S. pulled out. No, I can't tell you when that was . . . is . . . but during that time I was held prisoner . . . it's been three years already in your time I've been in that cage . . . I existed on weevil-infested rice and whatever rainwater I could catch in my mouth — not much else." He shuddered at the memory and looked directly at Captain Gregg. "Spiritually, my love for Beth was the _only_ thing that kept me alive during the time I was in that hell-hole. After I was finally repatriated, I came home — Then I found out that Beth had given up on me. She had had me declared legally dead and married some lawyer. I don't even know where she is now." Al shrugged. "Eventually I rose in rank in the Navy . . . became an Astronaut . . . circled the moon . . . as you know, I'm an Admiral now. Funny — at one point, I really didn't give much thought to any real advancement in the Navy — Considered anyone above the rank of a lieutenant to be a horse's ass!" He chuckled, and then continued. "I got married another four times after Beth – none of those marriages ever really 'clicked.' I'm divorced now."

Albert Calavicci looked earnestly at Daniel Gregg. "Beth was my first wife and the only woman I ever truly loved. The only woman I ever wanted to grow _old_ with. If you are lucky, _really_ lucky, life — fate — God, Time, or . . . _Whoever_ is gonna give you one shot at true love, and Beth was mine. _Carolyn Muir is yours_, you know it, and I know it. You've been given another chance — and you're trying to throw it away! Now what's the REAL problem Captain?"

Captain Daniel Gregg looked at Albert Calavicci and started to speak, then he hesitated.

"Captain . . ." Al said desperately, ". . . Damn it, man, you time is running out! Now snap to it! I'm in a hurry!"


	12. CHAPTER 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The Captain looked at the smaller man in front of him. "You are not going to stop bothering me, are you?" Admiral Calavicci shook his head. "All right Admiral. I will tell you." Daniel Gregg answered. "I cannot _marry_ her. I cannot _support_ her — Even if I _can_ touch her now, I cannot ask Carolyn to make that kind of decision . . . to spend the rest of her life — her _human_ life with me. I'm not worthy of that." He stopped speaking and glared at Al, almost as if he was daring him to answer him.

Al looked back at the Captain; with grudging admiration in his eyes, and shrugged. "Marriage . . . Okay, you coming from the 19th Century, I can understand your problem . . . up to a _point_, that is! You're going to have to think about that, and make your own decision when the time comes." Al paused for a moment, and then continued. "A marriage — a _good_ marriage — Is a union of minds and bodies and souls and spirits. Having a marriage license, while _still_ the best way to start a committed relationship to each other, as far as I am concerned, is wonderful, but it is not a guarantee, especially in your case, that everything will be perfect. Look at me . . . five times I've been down the aisle and it really only 'took' once! You two have something that . . . that I'm not sure can even be measured . . . _it's that special."_

Al stared directly into the Captain's eyes and continued with his debate. "In your case, Daniel . . . may I call you, Daniel?" The seaman nodded. "In your case, Daniel, I think you are much more worried about not being able to be the _total_ means of 'support' for your family, for you _do_ call them _'your'_ family — that's what is _really_ bothering you, isn't it?" He paused and let Gregg meditate on his words for a moment.

"Yes . . ." the seaman growled. ". . . Is that so wrong?"

"No . . . not _wrong_," Al said, trying to be patient with his 19th-Century friend, "Just a little — outdated. And don't growl at me either! You called _yourself _outdated you know! It's a new century, Daniel. It's the _1970's,_ not the 1870's. A whole new decade is just getting started. This _Women's Lib_ you have been hearing about — it's a _good_ thing. It's not all bra burning and rallies. The rallies were . . . _are_ important because they brought attention to the issues — to the problems women have been facing. It's about women's independence, which is no doubt a difficult concept for a 19th-Century man like you to understand — and it's about equality. Just the simple fact that if women are doing the same job as men in the workforce that the pay should be the same for _both — _not less for the woman because she isn't 'a man and the head of a family,' or because she's 'only' a woman. It's about a woman being able to get a credit card in her own name without a husband, boss or male relative having to sign for her. I bet you five bucks Carolyn Muir is _still_ fighting that issue!" Al continued, triumphantly.

"Aye," the seaman nodded, "She is!"

Al stopped speaking and paced up and down the small white room, and then stopped in front of the Captain. "By the way . . ." he added with a grin, "If you are talking about EQUAL contribution here — I've got news for you. From everything I've noticed so far, you and Carolyn Muir _are_ equal partners . . . you just haven't figured that out yet!" He nodded toward the Captain, smugly.

Daniel Gregg looked at Al curiously. "And how, precisely, did you come to that conclusion . . . Sir?"

"Twenty-twenty hindsight helps, Daniel." Al replied. "It's very simple, really! Ziggy pulled up Carolyn Muir's story, '_Maiden Voyage'_ and many others that she has had published over the last two years. From the writing style and . . . uhh . . . story content, it doesn't take a hybrid computer to tell me that Carolyn didn't write _'Maiden Voyage!'_ You can't fool me Daniel — _you_ wrote it — and I definitely see your hand, or at least your contributions as far as the technical stuff goes, in some of her other sea stories. I know you didn't 'help' with all of them — but could she really have written some of those stories as accurately — as well as she did if you weren't working _together?_ What are you working on right now, for instance?"

"My Memoirs . . . " the Captain started.

"Your Memoirs? Well, all _right_ then! How can you say you aren't 'supporting your family'? Ask yourself — Who suggested the Memoirs to begin with? Would the book be as accurate and as interesting without you being there to contribute your personal memories to the story of your life? Carolyn is a _fine _writer, there's no doubt about that. You two are a _team — _you just don't know it — or at least the possibility just hasn't entered your mind! And when you aren't writing together, you are acting as an editor, of sorts, right? Haven't you proofed her stories at times? Checked for continuity? I'm sure any writer will tell you that a good editor is worth their weight in gold." Al stopped again and shook the seaman's shoulder. "Get this straight, Gregg! You are contributing just as much, and are just as _vital_ to your family as Carolyn is! You have been working equally and contributing equally to 'your' household for almost two years! You ARE equal. It's definitely not the same kind of arrangement men and women had in the 1870's, or even in some ways as in the _1970's_. You are actually _ahead_ of your time!" Al laughed.

"And what in blazes is so funny, may I ask?" the Captain said.

"I was just thinking about what Sam would say if he could see the soapbox I just climbed down from." Al said with a grin. "He's been rubbing off on me, I think. No way five years ago would I have ever given this enlightened a speech — to anyone! I guess his experiences leaping have influenced _me_ too!" He smiled and stored the memory away — hoping he could tell Sam about it some day, and looked at 'Gregg' again. "Please — all I am asking for you to do is to _think_. Consider carefully what we have talked about — What I've said . . . and be _patient_. I . . ."

_"Admiral_ . . . Ziggy's voice cut in_, "You are needed in the Control Room immediately. I have new information."_

"Is it important, Ziggy?" Al said with a sigh.

_"Yes, Admiral. Code, Alpha."_

Admiral Calavicci headed for the door on the double — revealing nothing more to Captain Gregg; who was busy thinking about what Admiral Albert Calavicci had already said to him.


	13. CHAPTER 12

**Chapter Twelve - 2:00 - 4:00 p.m.**

Samuel Beckett had spent the afternoon 'lurking,' as Albert Calavicci so delicately put it. He took a walk on the beach, willing himself to an invisible state so Carolyn couldn't find him. The walk was invigorating but did not solve any of the problems at hand.

Sam moved himself to the attic. For an hour or so, he poked around in what had to be Captain Gregg's desk and found his ship's logs. They were not what he expected. He had hoped to find something more like a diary; instead it was a day-by-day account of the voyage of the Captain's last command, 'The English Rose,' and although the journal was interesting, he found he couldn't fully concentrate — too many other thoughts crowded his mind, chiefly his guilt for avoiding Carolyn Muir and his concern for the safety of Candy and Jonathan. Mostly, however he found that he was bored. Incredibly bored. Lurking, or hiding, was just not what he did best. He looked around the attic again.

_Wow, _he thought. _If I'm bored spending a lousy two hours up here, how on earth did Daniel Gregg bear it for a HUNDRED years? I'd be stir-crazy in a week! _Feeling the attic walls close in on him, Sam willed himself once more to the widow's-walk.

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

"Captain?" said Carolyn, coming up the stairs, "Are you up there?"

"Uhh . . . Yes . . ." Sam braced himself.

Carolyn stepped up into the open space and looked at him. "Martha said you might be up here," she started. "You told me last night you wanted to get back to work on the Memoirs today."

"Yes . . ." Sam mumbled, ". . . But, uhh, you're the writer . . . Ca . . . Mrs. Muir. I figured you could probably do it without me. I've been sort of . . . busy today."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Uhh . . . just . . . things . . . Mrs. Muir . . ." he trailed off, lamely.

"What happened to Carolyn. . . _Daniel?" _she stopped again. "That's my name after all . . . _Carolyn_. You called me _Carolyn_ last night . . . why are you calling me 'Mrs. Muir' again?"

"I . . . uhh . . . " Sam replied, grasping for something to say, ". . . I wasn't sure you . . . liked it."

"I _did_ like it, Daniel. I've been waiting for you to call me Carolyn for two years. What possibly made you think I didn't like it?"

"I don't know." Sam said, truthfully.

"So . . . are you ready to get back to work on your Memoirs?" Carolyn asked, ready to start over, "We should be able to get a hour-and-a-half's worth of work in before the kids get home."

"Well . . . maybe we should take a break . . . " Sam answered, thinking of Candy and Jonathan, "We can pick up on it in a few days or so . . ."

"Why are you being so wishy-washy all of a sudden Daniel Carolyn asked, the frustration evident in her voice, "Don't you want to work on this project any more? After all, the whole thing was your idea!" She paused, "Or is it _me_ you don't want to work with?"

"No — it's not that — " Sam said miserably, "It's just that now's not a good time . . ."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice rising, "Is writing a little more time consuming than you thought? Are you getting frustrated? Bored? Just tell me what the problem is!"

"I don't know . . ." Sam responded, watching her grow more and more agitated.

"Daniel . . ." Carolyn said, "_Listen_ to me. I know the last week or so has been strange . . . first Harriet was here and stirred things up . . . that led to Mom and Dad planning a _wedding_ for heaven's sake, but . . . " she paused, trying to collect her thoughts.

"I . . ." said Sam.

"Please, don't interrupt me again." Carolyn said, continuing her speech. "I just want you to know, that . . . that the last two years here have been very important to me. I wouldn't have missed them for anything in the _world_. Finding Gull Cottage — and you — when I did, probably saved my life in some ways. You being here gave me the courage I needed to stand on my own. I don't even know quite _how_, exactly. Maybe because I can fight with you . . . bounce ideas off you. You make me believe in more in myself each day . . . you do it every time I have to prove I'm right and you're wrong. When you say you liked something I had written. What I told you the night I brought back the Monkey-Puzzle tree still goes . . . It _does_ get dull with just 'humans' to talk to — You're company for me in a way that Martha and the kids just _can't _be.

Carolyn gazed into 'her Captain's' eyes. "Something's bothering you Daniel. You haven't been quite yourself all day. You've lost interest in your Memoirs. You've been _avoiding_ me. I . . . don't want you to worry about last night. You know, the wedding and all that . . . I mean. Mom goes a little overboard sometimes, that's all . . . and I don't want you to give what I said last night another thought either. Don't tell me that it's over between us — that you are going to leave. Don't give up on you and me and our . . . our friendship, I know at times what we feel can't be totally expressed, but there's no such thing as hopeless, if you _believe_ that things can work out."

Her voice began to speed up. _"I just want you to know that Gull Cottage WOULD be a palace if you were alive and here, but it's fine if you're not alive — I mean I'm sorry you're not alive, but I'd really rather just have you here and with me. I really don't want it any other way_ . . . _because I lov_ . . .She stopped and turned away, overcome, then turned back to him, a tear trailing down her cheek.

Totally forgetting what he was, Sam reached out and brushed the tear away. "Don't cry . . . " he said softly. "You shouldn't cry . . ."

Carolyn's eyes grew wide. _"You touched me!"_

"Uhh . . . Well . . ." Sam said, realizing his mistake.

"I KNEW there was something different about you today!" she exclaimed, I _knew_ there was something different! This morning! You gave Scruffy a belly rub! I could SEE you do it! You played the piano! I SAW you do it! You didn't have to turn invisible before you picked something up or touched something! "Two years you've been playing this game?" she cried, "Why did you lie to me? To all of us?"

"I haven't lied to you — " Sam began.

"Then what do you call it?"

"Well . . . " Sam said again, "Sometimes the things you think could never happen, happen just like that . . . " he smiled weakly.

"That's _not_ an explanation." Carolyn said darkly. "I'm not finished yet!"

"What is it?" said Sam, exasperated, "Why are you so angry? I thought you'd like . . . " she interrupted him.

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, because you were acting so strangely already, but it's because — on top of everything else, last night you DID say you LOVED me . . ."

"I did?"

"Well . . . you didn't say it to me . . . you said it to Claymore."

_"Claymore?_ Your landlord?"

"And your great-nephew! There you go again! Acting like you don't know what I'm talking about! You were yelling at him. I was busy with Mom and Dad. He said 'hi kids' to Jonathan and Candy, and you said, _"Is that any way to greet the children of the woman you love?"_ to Claymore! I know you said it! Are you going to try and tell me I _dreamed_ it?"

"Well, I . . ."

The Imaging Chamber door opened on the widow's-walk and Al Calavicci practically ran through it.

"Sam! Ziggy figured it out! This is it! It's the kids!"

Sam looked over to him. "No Al — that can't be right! Adam and Quentin are with them, if it had been today they would have been mentioned in the . . ."

"Captain, who are you talking to?" Carolyn demanded, "If this is some kind of a trick . . ."

"Sam!" Al shouted, "Pay attention! I don't know who Adam and Quentin are, but Candy and Jonathan are in an underground cave about a half a mile up the beach! The cave will be flooded with sea-water in about five minutes!"


	14. CHAPTER 13

**Chapter Thirteen – 4:15 p.m.**

Carolyn looked at the 'Captain' talking to empty air. "Daniel . . . what is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the kids . . . there's something . . . they're down at the beach . . . in a cave . . ."

Sam headed for the stairway, Carolyn following behind him – their argument forgotten, and ran into Martha in the foyer.

"Martha!" Carolyn gasped, ". . . The kids . . . they're at the beach . . . they're trapped in a cave! Call the fire department!"

"Sam! Hurry!" said Al, ". . . The water is rising! The cave is in a little cove exactly point eight miles north of here!"

"I'll meet you there, Al!" Sam said, not really caring that Carolyn could hear him talk to his holographic friend, and then to Carolyn he added, "I'm going to the cave! Join me as fast as you can . . . " and he started to dematerialize.

"You aren't going anywhere without me, Captain!" said Carolyn as she grabbed his arm.

"But . . ." he paused, and held both her hands in his. "Hold on! He loosed her hands for a moment; "Cross your fingers . . . I don't know whether this is gonna work . . ."

Both Sam and Carolyn dematerialized and re materialized at the cove in front of the cave. There was already over two feet of water flowing freely into the opening. Carolyn looked around, and then down at herself. "I didn't know you could do that!" she said in surprise.

"Neither did I . . ." Sam mumbled, ". . . But this really isn't the time to discuss it! "Jonathan! Candy!" Sam yelled, leaning toward the entrance of the cave.

"Candy!" cried Carolyn, straining her ears for a response.

"Jonathan!" Sam cried. "Al! Go to them! Let me know what's going on!" Al's holographic image moved through the water, into the cave.

"Sam!" Al cried, "It's Jonathan! He's on his way out!"

Sam half-walked, half-swam to the cave's entrance and pulled Jonathan further away from the opening. _"Jonathan!_ Are you all right? Where are Adam and Quentin? Where's Candy? Speak to me! We haven't much time!"

Jonathan, tears swimming in his eyes, tried to collect himself. "Adam and Quentin left Captain, to see a movie . . . Candy's trapped . . . I'm so sorry! We were exploring and she was climbing on some rocks, and she slipped and the rock moved . . . her leg is caught . . . we tried pulling . . . she said it hurts . . . I can't move the rock . . . I wasn't going to leave her, but I heard you shout! You gotta go get her!"

"Can you get to your mother?" Sam asked hurriedly.

"Sure, Captain, but what about Candy?" Jonathan asked, tears filling his eyes again.

"Sam!" shouted Al from inside the cave, "Follow the sound of my voice! You've got to get her loose! Ziggy says you only have two minutes before her head is covered!"

Sam dematerialized and rematerialized inside the cave beside Candy, who was indeed stuck — and the water was rising fast! "Captain Gregg!" Candy cried, already swallowing water as the waves flowed through the rocks, "You're here! You found me! Is Jonathan okay?"

"He's fine!" Sam shouted, trying to move the boulder pinning the girl.

"Captain!" Candy screamed, "The water's getting higher!" Sam tried again to move the boulder trapping Candy's foot, without success.

"Al!" Sam shouted, "I can't move it!"

"Sam!"

"What?" He shouted over Candy's cries.

"Grab her! Hold on to her and dematerialize! If it works the way it did with Carolyn, you should be able to move her right out from under the boulder!"

Sam grabbed the little girl and held her tight.

"Hey, Captain!" said Candy, "I didn't know you could . . . you were . . ."

_"Later_ Candy! Cross your fingers and hold on!"

Sam and Candy dematerialized together and rematerialized outside the cave — a few feet away from Jonathan and Carolyn.

Carolyn embraced Candy and then Jonathan again, hugging them tight — tears streaming down her face as well as the children's. Sam looked at the children and then at Carolyn.

"We need to get them back to the house. Jonathan, can you walk?"

"I'm fine, Captain, just wet! But, Candy . . ."

Sam glanced at the shivering girl. "You, I better . . ." he scooped her up and they all headed for the house — Sam carrying Candy, who smiled at him, despite her aching ankle, with Jonathan on one side of him and Carolyn on the other. As they walked back toward Gull Cottage, Sam signaled Al to get closer to him.

"You did it Sam!" Al said. "That was close! Ziggy only figured out what happened ten minutes ago! There was a typo in the paper — that idiot editor, Finley, either didn't catch it or didn't care enough to correct it! The paper for that week went out with a date of April 18, _1971_! It got downloaded into the computer banks with the wrong year! Once Ziggy found it, it was simple to find the story though! The article in the SBB told us everything." Admiral Calavicci heaved a sigh of relief. "In the original history, Candy was stuck, and Jonathan wouldn't leave her — he kept trying to move the boulder. The cave filled with water and he was trapped also and they both drowned. Mrs. Muir never got over it. Essentially she lost the Captain and her children all in a space of less than twenty-four hours. Carolyn never wrote anything else under her own name after that — just did enough ghostwriting and editing work to survive . . . sort of. She became a recluse." Al punched a series of colored cubes on the handlink. "Ziggy says the kids will be fine now though — Do you want to know how the baseball tournament turns out?"

Sam shook his head covertly and gave the tired little girl he was carrying another squeeze and thought: _'Obviously I'm not done yet . . . I haven't leaped._


	15. CHAPTER 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Hey, Sam . . ." Al said as they started up the flagstone walkway to the house. "It looks like you aren't gonna leap for a few minutes — I think I'll go back and see if Gregg is holding things up. I'll be back in a bit. I want to say goodbye to him anyway . . . " his voice trailed off as he exited through the Imaging Chamber door.

Martha and Scruffy greeted them from the porch as they arrived back at Gull Cottage. "My word! You're soaked! What happened?" the housekeeper asked, looking at the still-drippy children and the soaking wet Captain. Scruffy ran around in circles yapping at the group.

"We'll explain in bit, Martha," Carolyn answered. "In the meantime, could you please call and cancel the fire department? Everything's all right — no sense dragging them out here now!" she added, running upstairs to get some dry clothes for the children.

Sam placed Candy on the couch carefully and felt her ankle with a practiced hand. _Holding a degree in medicine along with six other degrees certainly comes in handy! _he thought.

Martha came back into the living room. "Darn these rinky-dink small towns! The fire truck hadn't even left the village yet! Coffee and hot chocolate is almost ready Captain — What's the verdict?"

"I'd say Candy's ankle is sprained, not broken, Martha. I need an ace bandage to wrap her properly." He paused. "I need to change clothes too . . ." He stopped, realizing he had no idea where Captain Gregg might keep a change of wardrobe — or if he even had one!

"I found some dry clothes for you, Captain," Martha said, holding a bundle out to him, "I checked in your sea chest after I put on the coffee and cocoa — they may be a little musty but . . ."

"Beats what I have on," said Sam. "Thanks!" He grabbed them and headed for the bathroom. "Where are the ace bandages?"

"Under the sink!" Martha called after him. "I'll get a fire started!"

Carolyn came back downstairs with a now-dry Jonathan and carrying a change of clothes for Candy. "What's under the sink?" she asked.

"Bandages. The Captain says Candy's ankle is sprained, not broken," said Martha. "I think he's right — after all, he would have to know some medical stuff if he was on a ship for months at a time! Jonathan, why don't you go out to the kitchen and see if the cocoa is ready yet? Candy — let's get you changed!"

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Sam stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes' later, ace bandage in hand.

"Coffee or cocoa, Captain?" Carolyn asked, not looking up from where she was pouring the chocolate for Jonathan and Candy.

"Half and half . . ." said Sam, without thinking, ". . . then add a shot of brandy." and he turned and bent over to wrap Candy's ankle.

"Half and half what?" asked Carolyn again.

Busy with Candy's ankle, Sam replied absently, "You know — café mocha — half hot chocolate, half coffee with a shot of brandy."

"You're doing it again, Sam . . . " Al said, as the Imaging Chamber door opened through the lit fireplace. "Hey! Cool clothes! Much better than what you were wearing before! . . . Starbuck's doesn't exist yet – remember?"

Sam looked at his friend, and then glanced at the tight black pants and open-necked white shirt he was wearing and shrugged, irritated. _"Well?"_ he asked Al, clearly asking his friend why he hadn't 'leaped.'

Irked at the 'Captain's' tone, Carolyn whirled to face him. "I'm working as fast as I . . . " she stopped, and gazed at 'Daniel Gregg' open-mouthed. "I . . . you . . . " she paused and collected herself. ". . . Where did _those_ clothes come from?"

"Uh . . . Martha said they were in the sea-chest, I think." Sam replied, taking the coffee cup from her. "Thank-you . . . _Carolyn."_

Al Calavicci looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're gonna ask Sam — Ziggy says you should have leaped back at the beach. We don't know why you're still here. The kids are safe and Captain Gregg has come to terms with the idea of sharing responsibilities and co-authoring with Mrs. Muir. He won't withdraw now, I'm sure of it. As a matter of fact, Ziggy thinks that's the way it was _supposed_ to work this time – I was here to get Gregg straightened out and you were here to save the kids." Carolyn looked at 'the Captain,' who, near as _she_ could tell, was staring off into middle space again.

"Captain . . . _Captain_ . . . _Daniel!" _Carolyn said standing, and walking over to where Sam was standing under the portrait of Daniel Gregg and interrupted the unheard conversation, "Are you listening to me? I can't begin to thank you for rescuing Jonathan and Candy, but this STILL doesn't answer all my questions! Why have you . . . " Al's handlink chirped.

"Hey, Sam . . . " Al said, punching a button, "Ziggy says you gotta kiss her . . ."

"I _what_?"

". . . Have to stop interrupting me, Daniel!" said Carolyn, clearly frustrated, "I just wanted to . . ."

"You better kiss her, Sam – Ziggy promises . . ." Sam smiled broadly at the beautiful woman in front of him.

"You know . . . It's been a really big day . . . Couldn't we talk about this later tonight?" He said, giving her a tender look that made her heart melt.

"You have to stop putting me off . . ."

"Even if I do this?" Sam said, as he kissed her on the nose.

"Well, I . . ."

"And this?. . . " and he sealed his lips over hers, and wrapped her up in his arms. Carolyn's arms went around him.

"That's it Sam! _You did it!"_ Al shouted as Sam was still kissing Carolyn, "Ziggy has the whole data feed now — The Ghost and Mrs. Muir go on and finish the Captain's Memoirs — the book becomes a movie, the movie becomes a TV show, and Daniel and Carolyn go on to write another ten books! Nine of them best sellers! Hmm . . . " Al said as he slapped the side of the handlink once more, "The Captain has to use a pen name of course . . . but it's him all right . . . Carolyn's co-author is _Joshua Webster." _

"Hmm?" Sam mumbled, not totally breaking the kiss, and then started kissing Carolyn again.

"Never mind," said Al, "I'll tell you later! Hey, Carolyn still lives here at Gull Cottage in the present! It says so on the blurb on the back of her last book!" Al's handlink chirped again. ". . . And Ziggy says, and I quote, _"that blasted Captain"_ is still there too . . . I guess we'll have to trust her on that!" Albert Calavicci looked at Martha and the smiling children. "You did a good job, Sam — Say goodbye . . ."

_**And Samuel Beckett leaped.**_

_GLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGL_

Daniel Gregg opened his eyes and saw Carolyn Muir's emerald green ones looking into his, and then turned to Martha and the children, who were grinning at him from ear to ear. Not letting go of Carolyn, he went to the couch where Candy and Jonathan had started cheering and gathered them to him also, and then he winked at Martha. Leaning over her, he kissed Carolyn soundly once again and held her close as she buried her face in his chest. Gazing up toward the heavens, he murmured in a quiet voice:

_"Thank-you Admiral. Thank-you Dr. Beckett_ . . .

"Daniel . . . " Carolyn said softly, tilting her head up and gazing into his eyes, "Who ARE you talking to?"

"Never mind, my love . . . Just some spectral friends of mine!"

_**The End**___


End file.
